THAT Magazine is like my new favourite thing lately, after it gave us some terrifically sexy pictures of Colin Morgan :D

I haven't watched Game of Thrones, but I do watch The Borgias. Cesare/Lucrezia FTW and a huge YES on enjoying François Arnaud's face. And his VOICE.

I WAS watching Camelot but I think I was just keeping up with too many shows at once and that one fell by the wayside. It didn't grab me like the others, but it's possible I might catch up on it at some stage.

Ryan/Seth ftw.

OMG you know what I only found out yesterday? Jamie Campbell Bower and Bonnie Wright are ENGAGED. It blew my mind!

Oooh DVD meme! I pick:

Harry says nothing. He slips William's shirt from its hanger, and helps a reluctant William into it, sliding each tensed arm into the cool fabric of each sleeve. He begins to button it and William does not protest. He wants to say I can dress myself, you know, but he's not sure that he can. His hands are clammy and shaking a little. Harry tucks the shirt into the trousers. William has been dressed by someone else before, all brusque and businesslike with practised hands. This is not the way Harry does it; Harry is slow and careful and deliberate, almost torturously so.

"I meant it, you know," William murmurs. He doesn't even know if he believes himself anymore, but he wants Harry to believe him, wants a reaction.

Harry won't give it to him. He doesn't speak, instead lifts up William's heavy jacket and eases him into it. It is a weight on William's shoulders. Harry straightens the sash, pulls the belt tight, steps back as if to admire his work. He is still only in his trousers, and they are unfastened, a triangle of white boxer shorts visible where they open. Their image in the adjacent mirror is strange, William thinks—he sees himself, the full military uniform bright, extravagent, official; and then his little brother, bare-chested with bare feet, trousers undone, messy—but in some ways it seems oddly perfect, right.

"You look good," says Harry. He manages to make it sound emotionless, somehow, a simple statement of fact, not a real compliment, with no hidden meanings.

He brushes the jacket down, though it's not at all necessary. The thing is spotless, but Harry wipes from it invisible dust and lint, and the slide of his hands over William's torso makes William ache. In a flash, without thinking, he grabs at Harry's arms, finds his fingers clenched tight around them.

"Stop it," he implores, and then, words falling from his lips before he has a chance to hold them back, "you're driving me crazy."

His grip loosens; his hands fall and he crumbles.

"I'm sorry." He takes a deep breath, lets it out shakily. "You're being...you're being very mature. I'm sorry. I should be thankful."

He swears under his breath again, and Harry says "hey," takes him by the hand, smoothes soothing fingers over his skin. William feels Harry's thumb against the frantic pulse in his wrist. It adds fuel to the fire, somehow; William misses him like they haven't touched for years, misses him fiercely and hungrily. He wants to pull his hand from Harry's grasp and get as far away as possible, or he wants to push him up against the wall and fuck him, deep, slow, forgetting everything.

He does not do either. He stands and he quivers under Harry's touch, and he thinks of Kate, and wedding vows, and the thousands of people who are gathered outside, and he leans into his brother as though they're being drawn together by some outside force. Their foreheads touch. William is sweating, his uniform thick and hot. He wants Harry to kiss him, wants it with every fibre of his being. There are footsteps and chatter outside, and he doesn't even care. He is leaning in for the kiss, wanting it so badly that he doesn't even realise that Harry is still, standing straight-backed, simply waiting.